Chapter 7

Hours later, the rain had stopped, but the night air over Manhattan was thick and damp.

Cailin sat hunched over her wooden drafting table in her dimly lit jewelry studio in SoHo. The only light in the room came from the harsh, bright LED desk lamp illuminating her sketchpad.

She aggressively erased a pencil line on the paper, the friction nearly tearing the thick parchment. She let out a frustrated breath, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes.

The pressure of designing a high-end wedding set in a single night was overwhelming. He probably thinks diamonds grow on trees and goldsmiths are magicians. This isn't a business proposal; it's a declaration of his absolute, irrational power. But the dread of going to Kane's penthouse was paralyzing. She was hiding here.

Her assistant, Paige Foster, walked into the studio carrying a steaming ceramic cup of black coffee.

Paige set the cup down carefully near the edge of the desk. "Cailin, you need to take a break. You've been staring at that diamond setting for two hours."

Cailin rubbed her tired, burning eyes with the heels of her hands. "Thanks, Paige." She picked up the mug, taking a sip of the bitter, scalding coffee. It burned her tongue, but she needed the jolt.

Suddenly, a harsh, buzzing sound echoed through the quiet studio.

Paige pointed toward the wall. "The downstairs door intercom is ringing."

Cailin frowned, her eyes darting to the digital wall clock. It read 10:15 PM. "Are we expecting a courier?"

Paige walked over and pressed the intercom button. "Hello? Who is it?"

A familiar, gentle male voice came through the crackling speaker. "It's Hudson."

Cailin's heart dropped straight into her stomach. She froze completely, her fingers locked rigidly around the hot coffee mug.

She stared at the intercom, unable to speak. She nodded sharply to Paige, silently signaling her to buzz him up.

Paige pressed the unlock button and then discreetly grabbed her coat, exiting through the back door of the studio to give them privacy.

Heavy, hurried footsteps echoed loudly on the wooden stairs leading up to the second-floor studio.

Hudson Duran appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a damp trench coat, his usually perfectly styled light brown hair slightly disheveled from the wind.

He looked breathless. In his right hand, he was gripping a rolled-up magazine so tightly the glossy paper was crinkling.

He walked straight toward her desk. His eyes, usually so warm and kind, were filled with a raw mixture of disbelief and profound pain.

Hudson slapped the magazine down flat on her drafting table, right over her sketches.

It was a popular financial tabloid. The headline screamed about the Sterling-Sloan merger. Below it was a grainy, paparazzi photo of Cailin walking out of the Sloan estate, placed right next to a sharp, intimidating photo of Kane.

"Is it true?" Hudson asked. His voice cracked on the last word. "Is the news about you and Kane Sterling true?"

Cailin looked down at the tabloid. Seeing her face next to Kane's in print made the nightmare undeniably real.

She stood up slowly, pushing her chair back. She crossed her arms defensively over her chest, trying to shield her heart.

She met Hudson's devastated eyes. She spoke softly, but her voice was firm. "Yes. It's true."

Hudson stepped back as if she had physically struck him across the face. He shook his head wildly.

"No," he pleaded, stepping forward again, his hands reaching out to grip the edge of her desk. "Cailin, I just secured the funding for my new film. The studio gave me a massive advance. It's not enough to fix everything now, but it's a start! Give me time, we can figure this out together. You don't have to do this."

Cailin felt a sharp, agonizing pang of guilt pierce her chest. But she knew it was far, far too late.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to be cruel to save him. She had to sever the tie completely.

"I'm sorry, Hudson," she said plainly, her voice devoid of hope. "Kane and I have already legally registered. We signed the papers yesterday."

Hudson's face went completely pale. The last remaining spark of hope drained instantly from his eyes, leaving them hollow.

He slumped forward, leaning heavily against the edge of the drafting table. He looked utterly, completely devastated.

Cailin stood frozen, watching the man she once thought she would marry break down in front of her, feeling the heavy, suffocating burden of her inescapable reality.